


It Was Dark

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Depression, IMPLICATIONS OF SELF HARM, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 20:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18818131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: It was weird, because after that, it felt like the house became haunted. He’d hear soft moaning, sobbing and wailing, as if a ghost had taken up occupancy in the living room, but only after 12am





	It Was Dark

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC  
> Anon asked: not sure if you write mental illness imagines as well, but I'd really appreciate a story where brian's depression is handled more realistically. because too often I see things where his bf rog gives him a cuddle and all is suddenly okay. so I wanted to ask if you could write something where maylor have to deal with all the ugly things that come with clinical depression. just a snippet of what their life is like and how they manage to make it through the bad stuff without ignoring the bad stuff.

It was dark in the room.

Roger nuzzled his head onto Brian’s shoulder, arms wrapped around the taller. He pulled him close to himself, tight and warm, unsure of what else to do, what to say.

Brian had been a little sad lately. That’s what he told others. A decent excuse for why he didn’t go anywhere. Why he broke previous engagements. Why he didn’t do anything.

But it was much more than that. It was much more than Roger could explain to others. It was certainly more than he could handle himself.

Brian had become someone completely different. If he had to choose a word, it’d be zombie. He shuffled about, groaning in response to questions. He slept most of the day and spent his few waking hours staring out of windows or under the covers, thinking maybe. Maybe just zoning out.

He rarely bathed now. His facial hair had become more than uncomfortable to kiss. Eating became a chore.

The only time Brian lit up was when he saw a bottle of scotch or gin. Roger hated to admit it to himself, but he preferred a drunk and depressed Brian rather than a only depressed Brian. At least he talked when he was drunk.

Shit was hard. Shit was really hard. Roger never had to take care of someone who’d hit rock bottom. He tried to shovel food into Brian’s mouth, but he seemed to only be getting skinnier. He didn’t even have to stretch to see his ribs anymore. Cuddling up to him always made tears well in Roger’s eyes. He could feel every bone prodding at him, pushing uncomfortably at Brian’s pale skin.

Roger tried lugging him into the shower, washing him like an unwilling dog, but he couldn’t do that anymore. When bruises began to pop up on his lover’s thigh, he was too scared to ask where they came from, although he had a strong feeling he knew. After the blotches began to mark Brian’s body, Roger couldn’t stand to see him like that. So he let Brian bathe however rarely he pleased.

What he hated most was the night time. The moment Roger laid down to sleep, Brian would get up like clock work. Every single night. He’d shuffle around the room, pulling the blinds away to look out the window before leaving the room.

It was weird, because after that, it felt like the house became haunted. He’d hear soft moaning, sobbing and wailing, as if a ghost had taken up occupancy in the living room, but only after 12am. 

This life they were leading was like living with the dead.

Roger would stay up for a while, wondering what the hell to do. What had gone so wrong? He’d wonder if this was his fault. He wasn’t taking care of Brian well enough. He wasn’t pushing him to go to the doctors. He wasn’t being a good boyfriend.

Well into the night, there’d be two ghosts in the house, both crying for relief. 

Roger held Brian closer, impossibly close. His skin felt icy, so surprisingly, he leaned into the touches, seeking warmth from the blond. Roger accepted it, drank it in. Brian nowadays inched away from any romantic gesture. It made Roger’s skin ache for a kiss, a hug, something. The times Brian used him for warmth felt like he’d won the lottery. He could pretend for a little. That his boyfriend was okay. That they were happy.

Roger kissed the guitarist’s bony shoulder, watching the flesh erupt in goosebumps. He pulled away and got up, ignoring the empty feeling eating at his guts. He couldn’t complain. Brian must’ve felt that void all through out his body, in his bones and muscles.

“I’ll make us dinner,” Roger said, a weak smile tugging at his lips. Brian grunted something unintelligible. He didn’t expect anything more from the other.

He walked to the kitchen, the sound of his footsteps similar to the dry grass crunching in a cemetery. He looked at the stove before making his way over to the phone.

After a few moments, he had it to his ear, a soft ringing coming from it.

“Hi, this is Doctor Newman’s office, how may I help you?”

Roger opened his mouth, faltering.

Was there a cure? For when your brain died but your body didn’t know it? For when your insides felt more like sand than human? For when your brain throbbed, veins pumped full of nothing, blackness, dark?

“Hello?”

Roger shook his head, saying, “Hi, sorry. I-uh- I’d like to make an appointment for Brian May,” voice incredibly small.

“Sure! What day works for you?”

“As soon as possible, really,” Roger replied, finger twirling around the phone cord.

“Tomorrow, 9am?”

“Yes. And uh. An appointment for m-me. Uh, Roger T-Taylor,” he added, throat tightening.

The receptionist kept talking, but he wasn’t listening. He looked back out of the kitchen, a ghastly figure now leaning against the doorway.

He stayed quiet, as the other was too. He hung up the phone, chewing on his lip.

They just stared at each other, two ghosts, drained of their lives, in a home that felt more like a crypt.

Hopefully, tomorrow would shed some light on them, open up the door to their mausoleum just a crack. But for now, this was all they had. This was all they were.

It was dark in the house.


End file.
